


A Few New Tricks

by mssrj_335



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Briefly Held at Gunpoint, Finn hoards weapons like a goddamn cartoon character, Flirting, Innuendo, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, POV Finn (Star Wars), Reunited and It Feels So Good, Salt and Pepper Poe, Sexual Tension, Stubble, moodboard prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25741681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: For finnpoe-wizard's moodboard and prompt: “unshaven, blinds, mirror”Finn and Poe are spies who haven’t seen each other in 10 years. When their respective missions are compromised they are assigned to the same safe house in a remote Canadian forest.
Relationships: Finn/Poe Dameron, Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 18
Kudos: 73





	A Few New Tricks

Finn tries peeking through the blinds but the whole thing is shut up tighter than a tick’s ass. So, he stumbles into the safe-house, bleeding, bleary, absolutely exhausted. Hoping it’s the right place. He’s tired, damn it. That’s going to be the excuse he uses if anyone asks because right now, there’s a pistol pressed to the back of his head and he feels like the world’s biggest jackass. _Always check your corners_.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to corner check?”

Well. Shit. Someone’s on the same brainwave. He raises his hands, slow as he can, not yet taking a chance to peek back at the voice. It’s familiar, rougher than the last time he heard it. A man. Older, no trace of an accent. American, or faking it really well. Can’t quite place the face that goes with it, but he’s sure he knows it.

“Pretty sure that was Day One at The Farm, friend,” he murmurs. He turns his head slightly and the barrel digs into his neck a little more. “There’s not exactly enough blood to keep all my thoughts straight right now, you get me?”

“On your knees.” Whoever they are, they don’t seem to care that he’s bleeding at the moment. No pity card, then.

He complies, not risking a ‘stumble’ as he does. This is a professional, no doubt, and he’s more likely to get shot than not if he tries something just yet. All he can see is wall but there’s a million details to soak in. There’s a shadow, the sun’s at just the right angle. Arm extended, not quite directly behind. Whoever it is takes a couple steps closer. Shoes click on the hardwood, creak in the quiet. Dress shoes, not boots. Solid. Expensive. One hand’s roughing him up through his ruined suit, efficiently fishing out just about every weapon he has squirreled away. Finn tries not to hiss when the man fishes out all his scrapes and bumps, too. He gets a glimpse of tan hands, scarred knuckles. Some standout veins. Someone older than himself. Then, right hand. Must be fairly ambidextrous, the gun trades hands. Gold ring, pinkie. Signet, just like his. Probably has a nasty shock like his, too. No sleeve at the wrist, must be rolled up. Not expecting company, obviously. That hand skirts over Finn’s belt buckle but doesn’t feel along the inside for the razor concealed there. It pulls the pistol from his shoulder holster though, shucks the magazine, pops the racked bullet single-handed. Then the second one on the other side.

“That’s a neat trick,” he says, because he has to say something. The hand’s patting down his right leg, pulling the same trick with the snub pistol strapped to his ankle. “I’d love it if you teach me that.”

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” he continues, tracking the hand as it travels up his left leg, pausing only to relieve him of the knife on _that_ ankle. Just gotta buy a little more time. “I’ve never been able to handle my gun just right.”

He pitches his voice low, syrupy and inviting, and the hand pauses for half a second. Anyone watching would’ve missed it but Finn can feel it. _Perfect_.

“Seems like you know what you’re doing. A real professional, aren’t you? God knows I could use a lesson.” The hand tosses the blade he keeps in his left jacket sleeve, and the right one. And he finds the small one under his lapel, but Finn hears it drop behind him, not quite far enough. “What do you say? Wanna take a break finding my weapons? Teach me how to use my gun?”

“You’re just _askin’_ to get shot, you know that?” the man says. But it’s a little more strained than before and Finn smiles to himself.

“Not to my knowledge. From where I’m standing, I’m just asking for you to stop stripping me and teach me something. I’m a quick study, I promise.” He cocks his head a bit and the barrel follows, a fraction of a second behind. “You know, if you’re into the whole stripping thing, you could take the rest off. I’m a mess but I promise I don’t disappoint. Maybe I could even teach you something, if you’re into that.”

The man snorts. “God, the mouth on you. They really let you loose on the world like that?”

“Don’t knock it ’til you try it,” Finn retorts. “You never know, I might not be half bad.”

The barrel’s pressure lets up minutely and Finn takes the chance. In a flash, he rolls back. The gun’s gone, the man stumbles as Finn’s back connects with his knees. He fumbles around for the knife, the man’s not firing at him. Mistake. Tired as he is, Finn kicks back, catching the man somewhere around the stomach with his shoes. Dude’s ass hits the floor. Finn spins on the spot, hooking the knife through the man’s pants. Not skin, just fabric tacked to the floor to immobilize a leg. He clambers up and onto his quarry’s hips, pinning two muscular arms to the floor with all the force he has left and staring down at a very familiar face.

“Told you I wasn’t half bad, Poe.”

Poe wriggles for a second before his eyes snap up. His jaw falls open a bit. “Finn?”

Finn breathes a sigh of relief, all the fight draining out of him, but he doesn’t let go of Poe’s wrists just yet. “You’re not really gonna shoot me, are you?”

“No, no,” Poe breathes, “shit no. Finn, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“I could ask you the same thing! Leiter’s men said this house would be empty. Just like them to get their wires crossed.” Finn takes another deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. It doesn’t work. He rolls off and onto his back on the floor beside Poe with a groan. “Job was compromised.”

Poe shifts next to him. “Gaza?”

“Nah. New Delhi.”

“Huh. Didn’t know we had anything in New Delhi.”

“Asset retrieval,” Finn offers. “Told them the bastard was a flight risk, but do they listen?”

Poe chuckles. “No. Of course they don’t.”

“Just got the asset back on a plane when they caught up to me.” He waits a second but when Poe doesn’t offer his own reason, Finn prompts, “You?”

“Just finished Accra. Been here about a week.”

“ _Bastard_ , I wanted that one.”

It’s true, but there’s no heat in it. It would’ve been nice to stay at Labadi, even if it was to track a mark. Poe turns his head and offers a roguish grin. “Seniority, sweetheart.”

Finn’s skin tingles a bit. Poe seems to sense it and his stupid grin gets a little wider. To cover, Finn throws back, “Yeah, all your seniority is showing in your knees, agent. Pretty sure I heard them creak and thought it was the door opening.”

“Yeah, well,” Poe grunts, yanking the knife out of his pants as he gets to his feet. His eyes are a little dark as he holds out a hand. _Huh._ “I must’ve pissed someone in Accra off. HQ rerouted me here ’til the heat’s off. Besides. Still got the drop on you, didn’t I? Must not be too bad.”

Finn can’t help smiling back, slapping his hand into Poe’s. “Fair enough.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Finn groans as Poe pulls him to his feet. All the aches and pains are really starting to show now that his adrenaline has waned. Quietly, he takes stock of what’s going to need serious attention and what can wait. There’s some glass in his arm that needs digging out, leftover from that flash-bang. Some laceration on his thigh, probably the blade. Another on his shoulder, same deal. Honestly, he just wasn’t expecting the mark to run at him with a _sword_. Sue him for being a caught little off-guard on that. Poe leads him to the master bedroom then the master bath, fishing out first aid stuff as Finn tries stripping out of his bloody suit. Poe eases back into the bathroom and Finn takes stock of him for the first time in nearly ten years. He does look a little older, but if the way Finn’s pants feel is any indication, [it’s a good look for him](https://media.gettyimages.com/photos/actor-oscar-isaac-is-seen-in-midtown-on-february-21-2018-in-new-york-picture-id922931254?s=612x612). His hair’s still curly, cropped short on the sides and shot through more with grey than black. Jaw unshaven, the same silver peppering his long stubble. He’s still wearing part of a suit. Maybe they don’t keep comfortable clothes at the safe house. Doesn’t matter, they’re _wonderfully_ tight grey trousers, a white, pinstriped shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his breastbone and rolled to the elbow. Finn’s mouth feels a little dry. Maybe a lot dry. It’s been a while since that _thing_ but not so long that Finn’s completely forgotten all of Poe’s, um…assets.

He shakes himself internally, slipping out of his jacket and trying to focus on getting his own shirt off. The buttons are the easy part but his arm is downright aching at this point. He doesn’t miss the way Poe’s eyes track up and down where his shirt parts. _Interesting._ He’s not working but he can’t help it, files that tidbit away for later. Poe seems to come back to himself and says, “Let me,” instead of letting Finn struggle with his holster.

“Thanks,” Finn sighs.

And really, that’s so much easier. Poe peels the fabric back, incidentally tearing the scabs that stuck to it. Finn tries not to hiss, but Poe does it for him.

“They let you on a plane like this?”

“Not a chance.”

Poe frowns. “Don’t tell me you rode cargo from Delhi to Toronto.”

“At least I managed to catch a nonstop flight. I got acquainted with a corner and slept most of the way.”

“You should’ve stayed put, at least got these cleaned up before you left. You _still_ had to drive, what, four hours from Toronto to get here? How are you even standing?” Poe sucks his teeth, turning his attention to the bloody spot on Finn’s trousers. “Come on, these too.”

“Didn’t have time.” Finn fumbles with the button and zip and _does_ hiss this time as he pulls his pants off. Their little living room tussle tore that cut open again. It oozes sluggishly toward his knee. “It was get here or get killed, you know?”

“Yeah,” Poe sighs. “I know.” Yeah, he does know, Finn supposes. There’s probably only a handful of others that understand the nature of their job like Poe does. “Why don’t you hop in the shower? I’ll hunt you down some clothes, then we can get you bandaged up, huh?”

That sounds heavenly, actually, so Finn nods. He hears Poe out in the bedroom, digging through some drawers at the water heats. He keeps it fairly cool, but the shit still burns when he steps in. As gently as he can, he washes away the dried blood and ooze from his arm and leg. Picks out most of the glass, inspects each cut in the soft yellow light. They’re not deep enough to be deadly, just enough to need some butterfly bandages. Definitely will leave a scar, but nothing like the one on his back. Frankly, he was lucky to walk away from _that_ mess at all. When he steps out, a pair of soft black underwear and a fluffy towel wait for him on the sink. It’s hard to dry, but he manages. And he only gets a little blood on the towel.

After a few minutes, Poe knocks and lets himself in. Poe sets out his materials on the counter then pats the sink, moving to stand just between Finn’s knees when he slides onto the cool marble. The soft fabric of Poe’s trousers brushes his thighs. Wow, that’s…that’s close. Poe swallows, Finn almost unconsciously tracks the motion. Poe holds his eyes from a second before ripping open the bandages and setting to work. The quiet feels hot and it’s not from the shower. Thick, infinitely more tense than when his pants were still on.

“So,” Finn starts, trying to dispel the heat, “how’d you get back to field work? Last I saw you, you were still training at The Farm.”

In fact, that’s where he’d first met Poe. Poe was his instructor for the hot-wiring course. Well, that’s not what it’s actually called. That’s just what all recruits call it. They learned the basics to lift and drive vehicles that would be common in their line of work. The instructors were a different story. Poe, in particular, could drive anything. And that meant _anything_. There’d been a rumor around the class that Commander Dameron had once driven a chopper, a tank, and a Lambo all in the same day. Finn found out later during some…intimate negotiations that that had, in fact, been true.

“You teach long enough, you eventually get bored,” Poe says, carefully picking out the last of the glass with some tweezers. “Wonder if you can still do all the things you say you can.”

Finn hums as Poe disinfects each wound, bandages his forearm and starts butterflying the cut on his thigh. He’s not sure what’s hotter: the air or Poe’s fingers. He watches, remembering in vivid detail what those fingers are good at. “So, can you? Still do all those things?”

“They wouldn’t let me back out in the field if I couldn’t, would they?” Poe glances at him, all the heat in the air coalescing between them. “I can do some of them even better.”

Oh, shit. Maybe he remembers, too? Poe taps his thigh and Finn immediately lifts it so Poe can bandage that, too. _That_ position definitely brings back a few memories. It’s been a while, but Finn quietly hopes he left an impression. He chances and asks,

“Like what?”

Poe takes a step closer, fully between his legs now. He’s still playing medic, fitting butterfly closures on Finn’s shoulder but the heat and the proximity has Finn dizzy. Definitely not the blood loss. Though, that might catch up to him soon, if all his blood decides to relocate.

“Like this, for one,” Poe murmurs. “Never was good at first aid until I got some more practice in.”

Finn’s torn at that. Mostly because that means Poe was probably patching _himself_ up but damn if he doesn’t look good doing it. He swallows, Poe’s breath skittering over his collarbone as the man leans closer and starts wrapping that wound, too.

“Any other neat tricks you got? I was serious about handling my gun, you know.”

Poe cocks an eyebrow at him. “You are the _last_ person that needs pistol training. I remember your marks. Not even Bond could outshoot you.”

“Wait, you _met_ him?”

“If that’s what you wanna call it,” Poe drawls, cracking a salacious smile.

Finn scoffs, half jealous, half impressed. “He as good as I hear?”

“Well, he’s good, don’t get me wrong.” Poe hums, pulls back, apparently satisfied with his work. “Not as good as some others.”

Finn wets his lip, and Poe watches with a kind of intensity that makes Finn’s knees weak. _Perfect_. “So, how long you have to be here?” He leans back a bit, inviting. Poe follows.

“A couple more weeks, at least.”

“Think I might be, too. Got any plans?”

“I was supposed to research the next assignment.” Poe lays a hand on his thigh. The good one. “Doesn’t mean I have to do it _immediately_.”

Finn’s back touches the mirror; he shivers. Poe looks him up and down, tracking that shake with dangerous eyes. Finn hooks one foot behind Poe’s knee, pulls him flush. The agent doesn’t resist.

“Can you still do that thing with your tongue?”

Poe smirks. “Sure. I got a couple other things, too.” Poe leans in the rest of the way, the scrape of his stubble on Finn’s cheek making him shiver again. “How about I show you after some dinner?”

Poe pulls back, tipping his fingers under Finn’s chin in a tease, sauntering out of the bathroom like he knows Finn will follow. Will he? At this point, he’s swimming in lust. Who cares about dinner? Poe spares him a look over his shoulder, tosses his head in blatant invitation. Shit, ok, he’ll follow. Finn bites back on a whine and tries willing away the tent he’s pitching in favor of straight thinking. Yeah, that’s not working out great. _This should be interesting._

Apparently, dinner is Poe’s first trick. _Damn,_ the things that man can do in a kitchen. It’s all so good Finn almost decides to count it as foreplay. The way Poe sucks his fingers while he cooks definitely is. Later, Poe surprises him with his second trick. Finn’s got one ankle around Poe’s shoulders, a hand locked in his hair, pulling Poe right where he wants him. That is, until, Poe’s cheek scrapes by the inside of his knee, leaving hot, open-mouth kisses and a thick liquid haze that has him a quivering mess. _Oh, that’s not fair_. That shouldn’t work. Why does that work? Finn doesn’t have an answer, only a groan and a curse when Poe does it again before swallowing him down. Fuck, Finn’s never begged this much in his life—who knew stubble could be a tool of persuasion? Maybe he’s always been a little weak for Poe anyway. That’s going to be the excuse he uses if anyone asks.

**Author's Note:**

> many many thanks to gmariam for giving this a read-over and her thoughts. and the idea at the end ;) (sorry tho gmary i couldn't get rid of bond)
> 
> thanks also to finnpoe-wizard for letting me to the prompt!
> 
> and as always thanks to you all for reading and commenting :D hope you had fun!


End file.
